All in War with Time
by Forensiphile
Summary: When Sara is attacked in her apartment, the CSI team races to find her assailant. But what they discover in the process could be the biggest mystery of all...
1. Default Chapter

TITLE: All in War with Time  
  
AUTHORS: Sorcha Smith and Devanie Maxwell  
  
RATING: R/mild NC-17  
  
CATEGORY: SRA, Grissom/Sara Romance  
  
SPOILERS: Small references from seasons one and two  
  
SUMMARY: When Sara is attacked in her apartment, the CSI team races to   
find her assailant. But what they discover in the process could be the   
biggest mystery of all...  
  
DISCLAIMER: CSI belongs to CBS and Alliance-Atlantis Productions. No   
infringement intended.  
  
FEEDBACK: Is always appreciated! Email Sorcha_mise@yahoo.com and   
Folieadeux94@msn.com  
  
ARCHIVAL: We'd be honored. Just let us know where it goes so we can   
visit.  
  
AUTHORS' NOTES: Sorcha wants to blame it all on Devanie. Devanie   
wants to blame it all on Sorcha. They've compromised by agreeing to   
blame it on Billy and Jorja.  
  
Sorcha would like to dedicate this story to Barbara, who would have   
loved every word of it, and is reading it somewhere, somehow.  
  
  
---------------------------------------------  
  
  
As the sunlight faded from the desert sky, Las Vegas came to life,   
showing its true self in the flash and hum of neon that contrasted   
with the shadows that lurked just beyond.  
  
In the crime lab meeting room, Nick Stokes and Warrick Brown chatted   
idly, waiting for their workday to begin. "Where is everybody?"   
Warrick asked.  
  
"Maybe we got the night off and nobody told us," Nick said hopefully.  
  
"Sorry, Nick," Gil Grissom said as he walked in. "Catherine called,   
she's going to be a little late. She had to drop Lindsey off at a   
slumber party."  
  
"What about Sara?"  
  
"I don't know. She should have been here by now."  
  
Warrick snorted. "Surprised she still isn't here from yesterday, the   
way she hangs around."  
  
Grissom was on his cell phone. "Sara, you're late," he said curtly to   
her answering machine.  
  
As Gil dialed Sara's pager, Warrick whispered to Nick, "That's what   
you want. A supervisor with such great people skills." Nick grinned.  
  
Still on the phone, Gil's expression changed from mild annoyance to   
something else. "She's not answering her cell, either."  
  
"That's not like Sara," Nick ventured.  
  
"Catherine, where are you? Okay. Sara's not here, and I can't reach   
her. Go by her place and bring her in." He hung up and turned to the   
other two men. "What about your cases?"  
  
Warrick and Nick were reporting on the minutia of court dates, chain   
of custody, and the lack of adequate funding when the phone rang.  
  
"Grissom." There was a silence and then he whispered, "Oh my God. I'll   
be right there."  
  
"What?" Warrick asked.  
  
"Catherine... found Sara. Someone broke in. She's in an ambulance."  
  
Nick jumped up. "We're going to the hospital with you."  
  
"No, you're not." The reply was immediate.  
  
"What?"  
  
"I need you two to go over to Sara's apartment and gather the   
evidence. I don't trust anyone else, and I don't want anything missed.   
Get there before the uniforms do."  
  
"We're gone," Warrick said.  
  
  
At the hospital, a moderately harried doctor briefed Catherine and   
Grissom on Sara's injuries. "Concussion, maybe some cracked ribs, cuts   
and scrapes. And, ah, she's had intercourse very recently." At   
Catherine's horrified look, the doctor hurriedly added, "Doesn't seem   
to have been forced. I'm guessing it was consensual."  
  
Catherine turned to look at Grissom, to see what his reaction to this   
news was. He hadn't taken his gaze off Sara, he hadn't moved a muscle.   
There was no discernible expression on his face, but his eyes were   
full of pain and his voice shook a bit as he said, quietly and simply,   
"It was."  
  
"Okay, " the doctor nodded, turning away.  
  
Catherine stared for a few seconds, rearranging her thoughts, seeing   
pieces click into place. She was startled but not surprised. Under   
other circumstances, she would even have been pleased. But not right   
now.  
  
"I will kill the son of a bitch with my bare hands," Gil said, very   
steadily and matter-of-factly. He was still looking at Sara, but the   
expression in his eyes was absolutely calm. It was not a promise, a   
threat, or an exaggeration. It was a simple truth.  
  
Feeling the hair on the back of her neck stand up, Catherine took a   
deep, careful breath and said, "Hey, Grissom -- you're scaring me." He   
finally glanced at her. "What happened?" she asked gently.  
  
"I don't know." His look went back to Sara. "She must have fallen   
back to sleep. She said she was going to get up in a minute and she'd   
be right in to work. She'd be right behind me..."  
  
Catherine took him aside and they both sat down. Fumbling for words,   
she asked, "So, how long? I mean, how long have you and Sara...?"  
  
"Two months and eight days," he replied, and the typical precision   
almost made Catherine smile.  
  
"And everything was fine when you left?"  
  
"Yeah."  
  
Catherine touched his arm lightly. "We'll find whoever did this. You   
know we will."  
  
  
Sara's apartment was dark as Nick and Warrick entered, the only light   
coming from a small lamp in the living room. Nick took a cursory look   
around before motioning to Warrick to turn on the lights. The main   
area was cluttered; books, junk mail, and water bottles littered the   
countertop of the small kitchen.  
  
"Funny. I always pictured Sara as a neat freak," Nick remarked,   
stepping over a small stack of phone books on the floor.  
  
"When is she home?" Warrick countered. "Check out her police scanner,   
though. Girl's wired." Her desk was the antithesis of the rest of the   
apartment. High-end computer equipment was stacked neatly on the   
wooden surface.  
  
"That's some setup."  
  
"She is a tech specialist," Warrick reminded him, already heading to   
the bedroom off the narrow hallway.  
  
Sara's bedroom was small, but comfortable. A queen bed rested under   
the window and furniture was sparse. That wasn't surprising to either   
investigator. For as little time as Sara slept it was novel to see   
that their colleague had a bed. They didn't ponder too long, however.   
It was a crime scene and it was obvious a crime had been committed. A   
lamp lay broken at the foot of a white dresser. Books were scattered   
everywhere. Pillows and bedding had fallen off the bed. A smudge of   
blood was visible on the headboard.  
  
Nick pushed down a sudden surge of anger and started to talk out what   
had occurred. "Assuming that blood is Sara's, I would say the perp   
surprised her. Blood's on the headboard which indicates she wasn't   
standing before he entered the room." He walked closer to the table,   
then gestured towards the lamp. "I'd say she woke up right as the guy   
made his move. Judging by the location of that blood...makes me think   
she whacked her head pretty hard. It's probably what led to her   
concussion."  
  
"How'd the rest of this happen, then?" Warrick asked, surveying the   
rest of the damage.  
  
"She probably didn't go down right away. Sara's tough. I'm thinking   
she was able to fight him off for a round. If he threw her into that   
dresser hard enough the pain could have done the rest of the job. Not   
before she got her licks in, though. He didn't finish the job."  
  
"Or did he?" Warrick had moved to the bed, his attention on a   
discoloration on the sheets.  
  
"Jesus." Nick breathed, looking stricken.  
  
"Sara's not the one night stand type and if she had a boyfriend I   
think we'd know about it."  
  
Nick rubbed his eyes. "Hey, can you collect the samples? I'll take a   
look in there."  
  
Warrick nodded his consent and returned to the disturbing task ahead   
of him. Nick stepped into the bathroom. It was tidy and there was no   
sign of a struggle or anything to indicate a crime had occurred.   
Fluffy blue towels were stacked neatly on the back of the toilet, the   
shower curtain still hung from all its rings. Two toothbrushes rested   
in their...  
  
"Warrick!"  
  
"What?" he called back, depositing the newly gathered samples in the   
case. He moved toward the other room, where Nick stood wearing a tense   
smile.  
  
"I think Sara had a visitor."  
  
"We knew that, man." Warrick looked exasperated, this case already   
wearing him down.  
  
"No. I mean an invited guest. A male. I found a men's razor on her   
sink and there are two toothbrushes in the holder."  
  
"Could be good news. Might not. Nothing to say an 'invited guest'   
didn't attack her."  
  
Nick rolled his eyes. "No, but toiletries imply that he was here for   
the night. Might rule out rape. If we can discount that I'd feel a   
whole lot better about this."  
  
"Yeah." Warrick agreed. "Let's get some prints and get this stuff back   
to the lab. It's a good start."  
  
They worked for nearly an hour, dusting, bagging, and photographing   
anything that   
might be evidence. Two uniformed officers came in. The younger one   
said, "Whoa. How'd the nerd squad get here so fast?"  
  
Nick stepped forwards angrily and Warrick put a hand on his chest to   
restrain him, speaking quickly, "We got the call. She's one of ours,   
and another one found her."  
  
"You want to back off and not contaminate the scene?" Nick asked   
through gritted teeth.  
  
The older cop regarded him, then nodded. "One of your own. I got it. B   
and E and assault? No robbery?"  
  
"No, and the suspect is long gone," Warrick added.  
  
The cop sighed. "Yeah, we'll leave you to it. Nothing much for us   
here."  
  
After another hour, Nick said, "I pulled two sets of complete prints   
off the nightstand and several distinct partials from the bathroom.   
Shower curtain and sink," he added, anticipating Warrick's next   
question.  
  
"All right. Let's roll. The sooner we get this processed the better   
I'll feel."  
  
Nick nodded his agreement and followed him out the front door. He   
paused before he pulled the door shut behind him, looking back at   
Sara's apartment solemnly. As competitive as things could get between   
the two of them, he genuinely cared for his friend. He closed his eyes   
in a silent promise to make this case their first and only priority.  
  
  
Catherine had left the hospital for the lab, to begin work on the   
case. Grissom stayed at Sara's bedside. He held her left hand in his,   
staring at her upturned fingers. He'd rejected the outward trappings   
of religion long ago, but he was praying for her to wake up soon. The   
head injury bothered him most; he couldn't imagine Sara with any   
damage to that quicksilver mind of hers.  
  
Sara slowly woke up and watched him staring. "Are you analyzing my   
prints?" she croaked out.  
.  
He was overwhelmingly relieved to see her awake. He tightened his grip   
on her hand and started to speak...Sara just gave a weak smile and   
closed her eyes, her hand still in his.  
  
Grissom just smiled and settled down to wait.  
  
  
Catherine sat in Grissom's office, eyes closed, thinking for the   
millionth time that the waiting was the worst part.  
  
"Hey," came his voice from the door of the office.  
  
"Hey!" Catherine said. "What are you doing here?"  
  
"I could ask you the same."  
  
A bit guiltily, Cat jumped up from his desk chair. "I wasn't trying   
anything, I didn't mean anything, but this is the only private space   
in the building and I thought a little discretion would be a good idea   
right about now." He nodded and sat down heavily. "Why aren't you   
still at the hospital?"  
  
"They threw me out." His voice held an edge of sadness. "They said I   
wasn't family."  
  
"Oh, damn," Cat said, also upset. "But you shouldn't be here." As he   
started to protest, she said firmly, "You're way too involved. Nicky   
and Warrick and I are on top of this, no other priorites. And frankly,   
Grissom, you look like shit. Go home and get some rest. You won't do   
any good to anybody right now. I'll call the second we get anything.   
GO."  
  
He nodded wearily and moved zombie-like out of the building.  
  
  
Gil opened his door and did feel better. The quiet and dark were a   
welcome change from the constant noise and flickering fluorescents of   
the hospital. Just what I need, he thought, feeling the pain in his   
head pulsating in perfect rhythm with his heartbeat. He hadn't noticed   
the migraine coming on till now, but it had caught up to him. Sighing,   
he took the medication and went into the bedroom to lie down. But the   
minute he hit the bed, he knew he couldn't get any rest there.  
  
The sheets smelled like Sara.  
  
He was painfully reminded of how it had felt to wake up with her in   
his arms that afternoon. And helplessly reminded of the first time   
she'd been in this bed...  
  
  
The knock at the door surprised him; the visitor even more so. "Sara?"  
  
"Hi. I, uh, need to talk to you."  
  
"About the case?"  
  
"Uh, no." She wasn't meeting his eyes, and that was odd coming from   
the usually straight-forward Sara. "About, uh... us. You and me."   
Taking a deep breath, she plowed on in a rush. "This... thing we have   
going between us, this little dance we've been doing. You're okay with   
ambiguity, but I'm not. I need to know if it's leading anywhere, I   
need to know if anything's going to happen, I need..." and with an   
exasperated sigh, she kissed him. Not a gentle kiss, but one full of   
longing and passion.  
  
He was taken by surprise, but not so surprised that he didn't return   
the kiss, at least at first. When he finally broke it off some time   
later, he couldn't speak. His thoughts were moving too fast. He wanted   
to tell her all the reasons it would be a bad idea, starting with the   
fact that he was her supervisor and... then he looked into her eyes,   
almost level with his.  
  
Her eyes were full of hope, and fear, and need, and want... and love.   
Sara's whole soul was in her eyes at that moment.  
  
It was the longest moment in the world, just like that last moment   
when a rollercoaster reaches the crest of the first hill and remains   
poised for a timeless instant between states.  
  
And with the same feeling in the pit of his stomach, he wrapped his   
arms around her and pulled her to him fiercely.  
  
It was quick and furious, no time for finesse as everything they had   
held back for so long broke through. It seemed only a matter of   
seconds before they were down the hall and in bed. He reveled in the   
feel of Sara's lithe muscles, so alive under his lips and hands, and   
the heat of her skin as she arched against him, crying out in release.   
Far away, the part of his brain that could still observe was   
unsurprised that she was so vocal.  
  
Then she reached for him again, and the time for logic was gone. They   
both gasped as he entered her, and he passed beyond rational thought,   
swept up in pure sensation. Utterly lost in Sara.  
  
They clung together, breathing hard. She touched a gentle hand to his   
throat and said teasingly, "Your pulse is a lot faster than seventy.   
You're not angry, are you?"  
  
He laughed aloud and hugged her. "Not even close."  
  
Neither of them spoke for a time. Sara traced a finger along his jaw   
and down his chest. Very seriously, she said, "As scientists, we know   
that experiments have to be repeatable."  
  
His expression was just as solemn, save for the mischief in his blue   
eyes as he ran a hand along the curve of her back. "Yeah. You can't   
have too much data."  
  
She grinned. "State your source."  
  
"Me," he said, kissing her again.  
  
This time, they were slow and careful, methodically exploring and   
investigating each other, finding the reactions that followed each   
action, and it was even better, much sweeter.  
  
Eventually, he murmured, "Thank you."  
  
"For what?"  
  
"For... not taking no for an answer. Ever." He brushed a lock of hair   
off her face. "I love you, Sara."  
  
She looked stunned at first, studying his expression. He hadn't said   
it lightly; he had said it because it was true. He loved her agile   
mind, her passion for justice, the way she anticipated his thinking,   
and, yes, he loved the feel of her.  
  
Sara read all this and quietly said, "I love you, too, Gil."  
  
Two months and eight days. The most terrifying, mystifying, and   
wonderful two months and eight days of his life. 


	2. Part II

Nick and Warrick ran the prints found at Sara's through AFIS and were   
waiting for a match. Yawning, Nick reclined in the rolling chair,   
watching the screen scroll through thousands of entries.  
  
Warrick picked up a pen and spun it between his fingers, his brow   
creased in tension. "I wonder how Sara's doing," he muttered, almost   
to himself. "Do we know more?"  
  
"Nope. I'm taking that as a good sign. I'm sure we'd hear if things   
got worse."  
  
Both men sat in silence for a moment before Nick spoke again. "So, I   
ran the   
prints we found on the nightstand and in the bathroom. I'll see if I   
have any luck with the partials we found on the wall and dresser.   
Since we already eliminated Sara's prints, the other set should be the   
perp." He realized he was stating the obvious, but he was reassuring   
himself at the same time. He rarely dealt with crimes that involved   
people he   
knew. The fact that he considered Sara a friend made it more   
difficult.  
  
The computer beeped, breaking his thoughts. Warrick was first to the   
monitor. He stared at the screen, his face transforming from   
expectation to confusion in the space of seconds. "What the hell?"  
  
Nick arrived at his side. "In-house match?" he translated, looking at   
the code. "I don't know about you, but I know my prints are nowhere   
near her apartment. I put my gloves on before I got to the door."  
  
Nodding, Warrick said, "And none of us would do it anyway." He hit a   
few keystrokes. "I'll be damned."  
  
GRISSOM, GIL the display read.  
  
They stared at each other and back at the screen, not quite knowing   
what to make out of that development.  
  
"What would Gris' prints be doing on her shower curtain?" Nick asked,   
seeming legitimately perplexed. He looked at Warrick to find his   
friend smirking at him. "You don't think..."  
  
"Yeah, I do think. How else would you explain Grissom's prints on   
Sara's bedside table? Were they on a case and she asked him to stop by   
to set her alarm clock?"  
  
"Good point." Nick laughed softly, still absorbing the revelation.   
"Wow. All this time I thought she was just trying to be Grissom's   
favorite. I didn't know she was trying to be Grissom's *favorite*."  
  
Warrick shook his head. "Shocks the hell out of me, too. I'm just   
happy that rape is looking a bit less likely. That was my main fear.   
We can worry about this whole Grissom and Sara thing later. Right now   
we need to find Greg and see if we can get some confirmation about the   
samples we sent him."  
  
They looked at each other, grinning. "Greg!" they said together.  
  
  
"Hey," Catherine said quietly as she walked into the hospital room.  
  
"Hey," Sara managed. She opened her eyes, obviously looking past   
Catherine for someone she was hoping to see more.  
  
"I sent him home. He needed the rest." Sitting beside the bed, she   
asked, "Do you know what happened?"  
  
"It's pretty fuzzy."  
  
"Take it from the beginning."  
  
Sara closed her eyes again. "I woke up, and..."  
  
"I know," Catherine said, unable to keep the amusement out of her   
voice. "*After* that part."  
  
"After?" Sara looked at her. "What do you mean? You... oh. You   
*know*."  
  
"Yeah," she nodded, tactfully looking away, then smiling. "I think   
it's great."  
  
"Okay. I guess I went back to sleep. I heard a noise, someone in my   
apartment, but I didn't think much of it, I figured Gil came back for   
something, maybe I said something, half-asleep. The next I knew, this   
guy was on me."  
  
"What did he look like?"  
  
"I don't know. Mask, gloves. Big guy, maybe 6'2", 220 and strong. He   
slammed my head against the headboard but I managed to get up and get   
a few good shots in. He pulled a knife, one of those big Marine K-BARs   
and he got me on the hands but I..." she strained to recall. "I turned   
it around and gave him a slice and that made him angrier and he tossed   
me agaiinst the dresser and..." She opened her eyes. "It's all a blur.   
The last thing I remember, I think he smashed the hilt against my head   
and then I woke up here."  
  
"Seems like that was the last thing he did. Something scared him off.   
Blood was still fresh when I found you. Nicky and Warrick collected it   
up and dusted and bagged half your apartment. They're working on it."   
Sara nodded. "You did good. You'll be okay." After a second, Catherine   
added, "I really do think it's great. You and Grissom, I mean. You're   
perfect for each other. Took you both long enough to recognize it."  
  
Sara smiled, the big grin she normally reserved for one person alone.   
"We recognized it, we just..."  
  
"Are both anti-social workaholics who aren't good with emotional   
commitment."  
  
Sara laughed, then winced at the pull on her ribs. "Ow."  
  
"Sorry. Get some rest so you can get out of here soon. We miss you."  
  
  
Some time had elapsed when Warrick and Nick returned to the lab to   
garner   
the results of the DNA testing. Upon arriving they found Greg tapping   
furiously on his computer, his back to them.  
  
"Greggo! Wassup?" Nick exclaimed, in much better spirits now.  
  
A sullen-looking Greg wheeled around in his chair, stopping to pull a   
sheet from the printer as he faced them. When he made no attempt to   
speak, Warrick broke the silence. "You get those results back?"  
  
Greg nodded, silently handing the printout to them while staring at   
the floor. With a plaintive sigh he sat back, watching the two   
investigators read the results. Nick broke into a grin, both because   
his fear had been definitively alleviated and because he understood   
Greg's depressive state. He smirked at Warrick. "So, this confirms it.   
Looks like Gris and Sara have been investigating more than just   
evidence." Warrick snorted, wearing a 'Who would have thought?'   
expression.  
  
Greg finally broke his silence with an incredulous look. "You guys   
knew about this earlier?"  
  
Warrick couldn't resist. "Yeah, man. We ran the prints from Sara's.   
Shower curtain, sink, bedside table...We feared the worst. Turns out   
it was an in-house match."  
  
Greg's face fell into an expression that could only be described as   
miserable defeat. With a forced upturn of his mouth he responded   
sincerely, "That's great. I mean, that it wasn't..."  
  
Warrick gave him an amused look thinly masked by pity. "Greg, it's not   
like you ever had a chance..."  
  
Greg waved him off. "I know, I know. But a guy can't help dreaming."  
  
Nick gave him a sympathetic smile. "Thanks for the results. I know it   
was rough. Hey, can you keep working on ID'ing the perp's blood? Just   
page us."  
  
"Yeah, yeah."  
  
Warrick and Nick waited until they were out of earshot before breaking   
into laughter. Nick recovered with, "Poor guy. He really took it   
hard."  
  
"Think he'll ever be able to look either one of them in the face   
again?"  
  
"Nope." Nick sobered. "Think we will?"  
  
"Damn," Warrick said with feeling. "Yeah. Barely. No wonder he said he   
didn't trust anyone but you and me at the scene."  
  
  
Nick and Warrick were already in Grissom's office when Catherine   
entered, closing the door behind her. She looked from one to the other   
quizzically. "Why the secrecy, guys?"  
  
Warrick motioned with his head towards the corner of Grissom's desk.   
Nicky reached over from his vantage point in the chair and handed a   
manila envelope backwards to Catherine. She scanned the contents   
quickly, her expression never changing.  
  
"That doesn't surprise you?" Nick actually looked a little   
disappointed.  
  
"Not anymore. Sara just told me."  
  
"Sara? She's awake?" Warrick asked, obviously relieved.  
  
"Yeah, I just came from the hospital. She's a bit out of it, but she   
appears to be fine. She --and Grissom in his own way -- confirmed that   
the DNA samples that you found were...to be expected," Catherine said   
delicately, her eyes drifting to the side.  
  
"Man," Warrick sighed, leaning back against the wall. "How long has   
this been going on?"  
  
"A little over two months, apparently." Catherine rounded.  
  
"Wow." Nicky looked reflective. "It all makes sense now."  
  
"How so?" Warrick queried.  
  
"Well, Gris and Sara have always been pretty close. I mean, as close   
as Grissom allows, at least. Then a couple months ago they went   
through a spell when he kept assigning her to a separate case when   
even I could tell she'd be better suited to the one he was working   
on."  
  
Realization dawned on Catherine's face. "I do remember that. You even   
said something, I think. I just figured there were still some   
unresolved issues from when she wanted to   
leave. They got better."  
  
"A lot better." Nick supplied. "To the point where I thought there was   
a bit more there. Little did I know."  
  
Warrick snapped his fingers. "Yeah, yeah. I remember! One time they   
were in Trace -- Sara was looking at a slide and Grissom had his arm   
resting on her shoulder. It wasn't like Gris, but I wouldn't have   
given it another thought if they hadn't jumped apart when they heard   
me come in."  
  
Catherine shook her head in amusement. "Sara has been spending less   
time here. She's always on time, but she's no longer the first to get   
here and the last to leave."  
  
"Grissom has been a lot more relaxed," Warrick reflected.  
  
"Yeah, now we know why." Nick gave a grin that approached a leer.  
  
The three looked at each other, amused. Then Catherine turned serious.   
"I'm happy for them. That said, it's imperative that word of this   
doesn't get to Ecklie or anyone that could use it against them. They   
could lose their jobs." They were also intensely private people who   
were probably already mortified that this had come to light in the   
first place. She wondered if they had ever planned on telling anyone   
at all.  
  
Nick broke her train of thought with, "I'll make sure Greg sits on the   
results. If Ecklie tries to pry into this case, hopefully we can get   
by with telling him that Sara told us the sex was consensual and who   
were we to ask?"  
  
"And that we cross-checked the prints and they belonged to Sara's   
boyfriend. No one will have a clue as to who he is." Warrick added   
with a snort, "This is some messed-up shit."  
  
Catherine nodded her agreement. "We know what we have to do. You guys   
talk to Greg. I'm going to talk to Grissom and let him know we're on   
the same page with this. He's already pretty on edge about this whole   
thing already. We don't want him and Sara to have to worry about their   
jobs, too."  
  
Warrick and Nick left in search of Greg. Catherine stood a moment,   
surveying her friend's office. She was genuinely pleased that Grissom   
and Sara had taken this step with each other. She just hoped the   
situation didn't tear down something that was still undoubtedly   
fragile.  
  
  
The modern American health care system is not designed to coddle   
patients, so as soon as Sara was reliably conscious and able to move,   
she was discharged.  
  
In the car, she didn't speak till she noticed, 'This isn't the way to   
my place."  
  
Grissom's expression was unreadable behind his sunglasses.  
  
"It's the way to yours." The silence continued. "Look, I'm not some   
wimp who's going to go all PTSD in my own apartment..."  
  
Mildly, he said, "You can't go back to your apartment. Your door's   
still broken, and Warrick and Nick used about a month's supply of   
print dust on it. It's a mess."  
  
"Oh. Okay."  
  
Sara sighed as the door closed behind them. "I'm gonna take a long   
shower and then catch a nap." He nodded.  
  
She stood under the water for as long as she could, feeling the heat   
work its way into her cramped muscles, easing some of the pain. The   
painkillers were keeping the rest of it at bay, though she hated how   
they slowed her thinking.  
  
Finally, she padded back to the kitchen and said, "I thought I smelled   
-- pizza!" He flipped back the lid of the box to reveal a large super   
veggie pizza. "And after hospital food..." With a slice halfway to her   
mouth, she smiled. "Have I mentioned how much I love you?"  
  
"Not in the last hour or so."  
  
"Remiss of me," she said, as he joined her in eating.  
  
Several slices later, Sara finally had enough. "That was great.   
Thanks." She stood, a little unsteady, and he put an arm around her as   
they walked to the bedroom.  
  
She flopped onto the bed, and then gave a contented sigh as she   
cuddled up to his chest. Sara was tough and self-reliant, the model   
21st century professional, and she almost hated to admit it even to   
herself -- but she always felt so damn safe and protected in his arms.   
Especially right now. Drowsily, she said, "Gil..."  
  
"Shh. Go to sleep for once. I love you." He kissed her forehead and   
she made no reply.  
  
  
Images: moving, still, jerky, violent, surreal, frightening. Sara   
cried out, struggling for a moment before she woke up and realized it   
had only been a nightmare, feeling her pulse and respiration slow as   
the phantoms faded away in the warm, solid circle of Gil's arms.   
"Wow," she said shakily. "That was something even for me."  
  
"Not too surprising. The medication's probably affecting your   
neurotransmitters."  
  
She laughed, further reassured by the prompt scientific explanation.   
"That, and you know how I get about cases."  
  
"I know." He studied her for a moment.  
  
"Do not start with the Shakespeare, to sleep, perchance to dream   
stuff."  
  
Gil propped up on one elbow to look down at her. Smoothing her rumpled   
hair, he said, "She walks in beauty, like the night/Of cloudless   
climes and starry skies;/And all that's best of dark and bright/Meet   
in her aspect and her eyes... Lord Byron."  
  
Speechless, she tangled a hand in his soft curls and pulled him close   
for another kiss before falling asleep again. 


	3. Part III

Another day, another meeting of CSI's. "Sorry I'm late," came a voice   
at the door.  
  
Everyone turned in surprise and said, "Sara!" She was still sporting   
some spectacular bruises.  
  
"You didn't tell me you were coming in," Grissom said.  
  
"You didn't ask."  
  
"You're supposed to be at home, resting," he said, concern evident in   
his tone.  
  
"That's all I've been doing. I'm bored. I'm okay to work, really. I'm   
a little sore, but not bad. Nothing stronger than ibuprofen, I took a   
cab instead of driving, and I know the lab's shorthanded. I just want   
my life back, okay?"  
  
The others looked back and forth till Nick broke the awkward silence.   
"I'm glad to see you back." He pulled out a chair for Sara.  
  
"Thanks," she said absently, sitting down without looking at Nick. Her   
solid gaze at the boss held defiance, and pleading, and undeniable   
love.  
  
"Okay," was the final verdict.   
  
Catherine said, a little too loudly, "You were sending Warrick, Nicky,   
and I to the multiple vic site, and you were going to that dumped   
body. Sara could give you a hand... counting bugs or something."  
  
"Yeah. Let's go."  
  
The meeting broke up after a quick round of welcomes to Sara. When the   
others had left, she sighed and said, "I know, I know, don't start."  
  
"I didn't say anything."  
  
"You don't have to! You never do. Sitting around staring at the walls   
and talking to the tarantula might be your idea of fun, but I was   
going crazy." She leaned closer, smiling, to whisper, "Not that being   
in love with you isn't crazy to begin with."  
  
His mouth quirked in a half-smile. "Same to you."  
  
  
Grissom had been driving for nearly 90 minutes and Sara had yet to   
stir from her sleep. She had practically bounded into the car,   
obviously eager to get back to some kind of normal routine. They had   
talked about case-related material until finally he changed the   
subject.  
  
"I don't know about you coming back so soon. You're still recovering.   
If you're in pain or tired or stressed it could affect your   
judgement."  
  
Sara eyed him. "Look, Grissom, I'm fine. I'm off the Vicodin. I've   
done more sleeping in the last few days than I have in the last few   
years. I don't see how this stress is going to affect me. I've had   
worse..." She broke off, looking exasperated. "Sorry. Just please   
don't worry. I need to do this." She gave a big smile to reassure him   
and rested her hand briefly on his knee.   
  
She then proceeded to emphasize her point by falling asleep before he   
could muster up a response.  
  
He turned the radio on low, soft classical music filling the cab. With   
one eye on the road he glanced at her, watching her sleep. It was   
still a novel experience for him. He was used to seeing the Sara he   
knew at work; the one that never rested and who came alive with a   
particularly difficult case. Now she rested with her head between the   
back of the seat and the window. With her eyes closed and her face   
expressionless she looked more at peace than he had seen her in a   
while. She was wearing her blue jumpsuit with the sleeves pulled down   
due to the heat; a white tanktop barely hid the bandages around her   
exposed midriff. Sara was thin before and the hospital stay had made   
her drop a few more pounds. The skin around her eyes was still tinged   
with blue, and the bruises on her face and temple had evolved to a   
lurid purple color.  
  
Grissom checked the directions. They were nearing the scene. With one   
more look at Sara he reached over and squeezed her thigh gently,   
shaking her awake. "Hey Sara? We're here."  
  
Sara looked up, squinting in the light. "That was fast. How long was I   
out?"  
  
"Almost two hours." Grissom smirked at her, but without a trace of an   
'I told you so.'  
  
Chagrined, Sara responded. "Sorry."  
  
"Don't worry. You deserve it." Grissom turned all business as they   
approached the bevy of fleet vehicles. "Grab the kit. I'll talk to the   
deputy."  
  
Sara nodded and opened her door, stepping gingerly to the ground. She   
went to the back of the Tahoe and grabbed the metal case from the   
storage area. By the time she had caught up with Grissom he was   
finished talking with the local detectives and had moved closer to the   
scene, which was about 500 feet away in rocky terrain.  
  
"Body was found by some kids on a trail ride. There's a stable about   
three miles from here. Caucasian male, probably in his thirties, shot   
three times in the chest at close range. The vic is covered in   
insects. They called me because they don't believe he was killed out   
here and wondered if there was a way we could determine via our little   
friends where--or when-- this guy was murdered." Grissom lifted the   
crime scene tape, putting his other hand against the small of Sara's   
back as she ducked carefully under to avoid aggravating her sore ribs.  
  
A swarm of law enforcement still surrounded the scene. Sara flashed   
her ID to an officer standing nearby.  
  
"Brass." Grissom motioned to a clearing twenty feet away. They met him   
halfway and Brass said drolly, "Well, if it isn't the first couple of   
forensics."  
  
Sara's eyes widened while Grissom whipped his head around, making sure   
no one had overheard the detective. "Not you, too, Jim!"  
  
"Word travels fast. I snatched the DNA results from your lab tech."  
  
Grissom rubbed his eyes while Sara looked on in a sort of amused   
embarassment. "Damn it, Greg."  
  
"Nah, wasn't his fault, I was in there on another case entirely. He   
was just standing there in a daze looking at the report. Guy didn't   
know what hit him. It's okay. He's filed it away carefully now. I'm   
fine with it, but you know Ecklie will nail you against the wall if he   
finds out. He'll have you buried so deep in the system that you won't   
be able to find your asses with flashlights."  
  
"We've been...discreet," Sara responded. "No one had a clue until I   
was attacked."  
  
"Discreet or no, the cat's out of the bag now. Just make sure this   
stays on your shift. If anyone on the day unit hears word of this   
it'll be all over the place in an hour." Brass gave them a pointed   
look, then walked back towards the legion of vehicles parked off the   
scene.  
  
"Well, *that* was fun," Sara said with no small touch of sarcasm. She   
looked at Grissom and he was smiling.  
  
"What?" Sara asked, confused by his uncharacteristic response.  
  
"The irony. We've spent over two months trying to keep this secret   
from trained investigators. I never counted on actually being involved   
in a crime."  
  
"You just have to be more careful with your DNA," she smiled.  
  
"Touche."  
  
They made short work of the scene, taking samples and collecting   
insects. It was a single homicide in a remote area, so   
cross-contamination was kept to a minimum, keeping the scene simple.   
The other personnel were just as happy to stay well away.  
  
Sara sighed. "Poor guy, he's living his life, and then next thing,   
he's out here as a corpse, squashing what little vegetation's managed   
to survive in this big empty desert."  
  
Grissom considered this, then quoted:  
  
"When I consider everything that grows  
Holds in perfection but a moment,  
That this huge stage presenteth nought but shows  
Whereon the stars in secret influence comment;  
When I perceive that men as plants increase,  
Cheered and check'd even by the self-same sky,  
Vaunt in their useful sap, at height decrease,  
And wear their brave state out of memory;  
Then the conceit of this inconstant stay  
Sets you most rich in youth before my sight,  
Where wasteful Time debateth with Decay,  
To change your day of youth to sullied night;  
And all in war with Time for love of you,  
As he takes from you, I engraft you new."  
  
She smiled. "Like I said. When did you memorize all those sonnets?"  
  
Affectionately, he replied, "Since I met you." They both laughed,   
remembering.  
  
About an hour after they had arrived, Sara was repacking the kit and   
depositing the last roll of film into a canister. She wiped the back   
of her hand across her forehead, grimacing from the dull headache that   
had started a short time earlier.  
  
Grissom looked at her in concern. "You okay?"  
  
"Yeah. I'm just a little tired."  
  
He reached into his pocket and extracted a small bottle. "I saw you   
left these in the car. Figured you might be needing them."  
  
Sara grabbed her prescription medication out of his hand with a   
grateful look, reaching into the box behind her for the bottle of   
water she always brought to a scene. "Thank you for second-guessing   
me. I'll be out cold in twenty minutes, you realize."  
  
"It's a long drive home."  
  
They collected their materials and headed back to the Tahoe, Sara   
already starting to drag her feet a bit. She was glad she had come   
back to work, but it was taking its toll. She couldn't wait to get   
back to her own apartment, take a shower, and fall into bed. Possibly   
with Gil, depending on her state of consciousness. They seldom stayed   
at her apartment together -- he felt better in his own, and the other   
morning had been a rarity -- but she felt the need to get back into   
her own space as soon as she could. She wanted him to stay, however.   
She wouldn't admit it even to him, but she didn't want to be alone the   
first night back. And she knew him well enough to know she wouldn't   
have to ask. As much as she had criticized him in the past for being   
dismissive, the gesture he had just made with the pills was an example   
of how well he read her.  
  
They reached the car and Grissom took the case from her, opening her   
door on the way around to his. She dragged her aching body up onto the   
seat, barely belted in before she closed her eyes. Her last memory as   
she fell asleep was the feeling of her hand in his, the low hum of the   
car engine in the background.  
  
Sara awoke when the Tahoe stopped moving, blinking at the familiar   
crime lab parking lot.  
  
"I'm going to run the evidence upstairs."  
  
"Mmmm," she commented.  
  
He smiled. "I thought so. I'll be back soon."  
  
She unbuckled her seat belt and reclined the seat, not thinking of   
much in particular, scarcely noticing the passage of time.  
  
She was startled at the door opening. "Good news. Your landlord's put   
a new door and locks on." He held up a set of keys. "And Warrick and   
Nick cleaned up after themselves. You can go home."  
  
"That's the best news I've heard in days."  
  
When they reached her apartment, Sara unlocked the door, took a deep   
breath and stepped in. "Wow," she said, surveying it. "It's neater   
than when I left. I'm gonna owe Nick and Warrick a big tip." Steeling   
herself, she walked down the hallway and flipped on the bedroom light,   
acutely aware of Grissom a few steps behind her. "Definitely neater.   
They do good work." She was working hard to keep her tone light.  
  
She turned to look at him and cut off whatever he was going to say by   
grabbing him by the lapels and kissing him, hard.  
  
"Sara..."  
  
"Dammit, Gil, don't say it! Don't say I'm too tired, or too sore, or   
too anything. I don't want to be treated like a piece of crystal. This   
is my house, and I'm not letting that bastard take it from me. I want   
my life back. All of it."  
  
He touched a feather-light caress to the bruise on her face, then   
kissed her; softly at first, then with real passion. He wanted his   
life back too, and making love to a feisty, strong-willed, alive Sara   
was so much a part of that now.  
  
He was infinitely careful with her, very gentle, tenderly avoiding her   
injuries and following her lead. And when she slept again, with her   
head pillowed on his shoulder and one arm flung across his chest, it   
was without dreams this time.  
  
  
Sara awoke alone. Alone? Yes, she vaguely remembered a goodbye   
conversation. She stretched carefully and found a note on the other   
pillow that read simply, "Counting insects" and laughed. Of course.   
There was work to be done.  
  
She'd just walked into the break room and was needling Nick about   
physics as Warrick and Catherine looked on, when Greg dashed in. He   
steadfastly refused to look at Sara.  
  
"I am, in fact, a god," he proclaimed to Nick.  
  
"Yeah, you say that all the time," Warrick snorted. "Prove it."  
  
Greg presented the papers he was holding to Catherine with a   
triumphant flourish. "Voila. Your perp. DNA match on the blood."  
  
Catherine read aloud, "Robert DeBare, 6'1", 225, record for   
possession, burglary, robbery, minor violence. Ex-Marine, prefers his   
old knife." She looked at Sara.  
  
"That fits. That's the guy."  
  
"So... he was just breaking in?" Nick asked.  
  
"Probably looking for something he could fence to buy another fix,"   
Warrick said.  
  
"But he didn't take anything," Sara noted. "He just left."  
  
"He wasn't expecting anyone to be home," Catherine speculated.   
"Especially someone who could fight back."  
  
"The phone!" Nick remembered. "Grissom called your phone, your cell   
phone, and your pager. All that noise must've scared him off. He   
figured someone was going to be there any minute. Panicked and left."  
  
"Ahem," Greg said proudly, pointing to the other sheet of paper. "Last   
known address, right here in Vegas."  
  
"I think I'll see if Brass feels like visiting that address with me,"   
Cat said casually, handing Sara the rest of the printout as she left   
the room.  
  
Sara looked at it for a moment, then over at the lab tech, who was   
still engrossed in the floor. She gave a little smile and said with   
genuine appreciation, "Thanks, Greg," and kissed him on the cheek   
before she left.  
  
Warrick and Nick managed to keep from laughing at the mixed expression   
of delight and despair on Greg's face. As they walked out, Nick   
clapped him on the shoulder and said, "Chin up, man."  
  
Sara walked into Grissom's office. He was engrossed in writing notes   
about the insects in the specimen jars on his desk. He looked up when   
she closed the door.  
  
"Greg found the guy. Catherine and Brass are tracking him down."  
  
He took off his glasses and said, "That's great. Any idea on motive?"  
  
She sat down. "Ex-con. Junkie. Looks like he was trying to steal   
something he could sell."  
  
"And he found you instead."  
  
"Yeah. And all those calls you made to me just then spooked him into   
running."  
  
He shook his head. "Completely random. No reason it should have been   
you at all."  
  
"And now look," she smiled. "Everybody knows about us."  
  
"Not everybody."  
  
"I know. And I know they can keep a secret. But we still have to be   
careful." She sighed. "You know how damn hard this has been?   
Pretending like nothing's changed? You know how nearly impossible it   
is for me not to touch you here at work?"  
  
"Oh, I know," he smiled. "Speaking of that, why don't you go ask Doc   
Robbins about the autopsy on yesterday's vic? At least he doesn't know   
about us."  
  
"Yet," she muttered as she left.  
  
  
"This is charming."  
  
Catherine and Brass had pulled up outside an off-strip motel. While   
many of   
the properties in the area lacked the glitz of their bigger name   
counterparts, this one was the definition of the word sleaze. Even in   
the poorly-lit parking lot, the decrepit building screamed "hourly   
rental". A few of the downstairs windows were boarded, most likely   
fallen prey to vandalism.  
  
Brass snorted and pulled into one of the many empty spaces. Both   
exited the car and neared the building, speaking in low voices.  
  
"It's room 143. I talked to the clerk earlier and he said the guy's   
been here for two weeks, give or take. Says he rarely leaves the room.   
Of course, this place isn't a shining example of security, either. No   
cameras, few lights." Catherine fell in step behind Brass as he   
navigated the shallow steps to the landing outside the first floor   
rooms. "143...Room's this way."  
  
Brass motioned for Catherine to step to the side when they reached the   
suspect's door. No lights were visible. Already drawing his gun, he   
raised his other hand and rapped three times, hard. "Las Vegas Police   
Department!" No answer. With a glance at Catherine he tried again.   
"Open up, police!" Again there was no response, but both of their   
interests were piqued by a quick shadowy motion behind the dingy   
drapes inside the window.   
"Probable cause," Brass muttered, almost to himself.  
  
Catherine moved behind him, her hand on her service weapon at her   
back. Gun   
still drawn, Brass stepped to the side of the door. Following his   
lead, Catherine moved to the opposite side of the doorway. She watched   
as Brass counted down from three, accompanying his lip movements with   
a hand signal. In one quick burst he was through the locked door.   
Whether it was because the place was low maintenance or the guy inside   
was strung out, luck was on their side and no chain reinforced the   
entry.  
  
It all happened within a matter of seconds, but to Catherine it felt   
like time had stopped. Her eyes barely had time to adjust to the   
change in light when she saw an imposing form charge towards the   
doorway, brandishing what was most likely the large knife he had   
attempted to use in Sara's attack. She barely had time to react when   
Brass stepped to the front. She watched as he fired three rounds into   
the man's chest. DeBare crumpled to the ground, the knife slipping   
from his grasp as his body went slack. Blood started to stain the   
front of his white t-shirt. "Radio this in and call an ambulance,"   
Brass ordered, surveying the room while Catherine phoned in to alert   
the appropriate personnel. Just a cursory inspection revealed a stash   
of various styles of knives and used drug paraphernalia. He kicked the   
knife out of the suspect's reach.  
  
Catherine folded her cell and stepped next to Brass, her eyes on the   
man on the floor. Pulling on a glove, she touched DeBare's carotid   
artery. She felt no pulse and shook her head. Sirens could be heard in   
the distance now.  
  
"Shit," Brass said, breaking the tension.   
  
"What?" Catherine asked."It's a righteous shoot."  
  
"The paperwork. You know how much paperwork this asshole's gonna cost   
me? Days' worth. Hope the taxpayers appreciate me saving them the cost   
of a trial."  
  
Catherine knew how hard it was to use your weapon, even in defense.   
She also now knew the feeling of conditional satisfaction. On one hand   
she was sorry that the perpetrator before her would never face   
justice. On the other hand it was now assured he wouldn't earn another   
chance to face it. Wearily, she said, "I'll help you with the   
paperwork. I don't know about the taxpayers, but I'm pretty sure a   
couple of people we know are going to appreciate it."  
  
  
"Did you find him?" Sara asked anxiously the minute Catherine returned   
to the lab..  
  
"Oh, yeah," Catherine drawled. "He's Robbins' problem now, not ours."  
  
"Dead?"  
  
Catherine held her hands up like an imaginary set of scales. "Perp   
with knife. Brass with gun. You do the math."  
  
"Dead." Sara let out a sigh and the tension she hadn't even noticed   
she'd been holding.  
  
"Yeah. It's over." Cat smiled. "There's probably someone you want to   
tell."  
  
Sara knocked on Grissom's office door. "DeBare's dead."  
  
He looked at her with genuine surprise, then relief. "Dead."  
  
She nodded. "Brass, with an automatic, in a motel."  
  
He raised an eyebrow at the "Clue" joke, then sighed, leaning back in   
his chair.  
  
"It's over. No trial," Sara said, beginning to smile as she walked   
over to the desk.  
  
"There's still... evidence."  
  
She shrugged. "There's a lot of evidence around this place. Nobody's   
going to waste time with a case that's wrapped up so neatly." She   
leaned over and said in a quiet voice, "But just to be sure, let's try   
leaving the DNA at your place tonight."  
  
Sara was the only one who could possibly have read what Gil's   
expression meant. But she was the only one who needed to.  
  
  
The next day, the buzz of the office was interrupted by a loud,   
"Dammit, Greg, the county pays you to analyze evidence, not lose it!   
And on Sara's case, of all things!"  
  
"Sorry," Greg mumbled, staring at the floor as passersby in the   
hallway smiled at the chewing out he was getting from Grissom.   
  
"You're just lucky this isn't going to trial! Don't do it again!" He   
stalked off.  
  
Sara walked up to the lab tech. "You lost evidence?"  
  
"Yeah, from your apartment. All the fingerprints and all the DNA   
except the perp's blood." His eyes were still downcast.  
  
"Wow. That's not at all like you, Greg," she said completely   
straight-faced.  
  
He gave a theatrical sigh and finally peered up at her with the   
smallest of smiles.  
  
She returned it, nodding.   
  
Upon entering the meeting, Grissom asked her, "Sara, about these   
photos you took of the vic..."  
  
"You mean the ones I had to take because you were so busy communing   
with your little multi-legged buddies?"  
  
He gave her a moderately exasperated look and went on. "Yes..."  
  
As the cheerful argument continued, Catherine, Nick, and Warrick   
grinned. Catherine whispered, "Made for each other."  
  
FIN  
  
  
Think Geek Love Rules? Visit the CSI: GS archive at www.uberfic.250x.com/csi 


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